


Even the Echoes

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Series: Forever and a Night [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Whouffaldi - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Mystery, Romance, Smut, So Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-12-13 15:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11763360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: Sequel to my story "Painted Stars in Our Hearts."  The Doctor and Clara are married and expecting their first baby, when a mysterious presence in their home brings shocking revelations to the surface.





	1. Prologue

Prologue

“Doctor, stop it!” Clara giggled, throwing aside the two blankets that were heaped on her lap. She took her feet down from the ottoman and set her mug of decaffeinated green tea down on the sitting room table. “This is ridiculous. I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”

The Doctor sighed, gave into an answering laugh, and shook his head. “But Clara, you’re supposed to be resting and eating, and drinking tea, and resting, and eventually going to classes where people tell you how to breathe as if you don’t already know, and it’s my job to support you through it all.” 

Clara grinned and sidled up to her husband. She was not waddling yet, thank you very much. At five months pregnant, she had a growing belly bump and was endeavoring to feel like a natural woman, a beautiful earth mother, and not at all awkward. She put her arms around the Doctor’s neck and pleaded, “Can’t we please just go on a teeny weeny adventure now? I promise you, I’m completely fine! I’m getting bored!”

“We’ve talked about this,” he argued, stroking her back, his blue eyes glittering with affectionate solicitude. “What happens if aliens come at us with blaster guns, or the Daleks decide to make a comeback and let me know just how much they’ve missed me, or something really big explodes next to us? And you’re right there, in the whole mess of it all. No, no no, no TARDIS adventuring until the little creature’s out and about. You don’t have a leg to stand on, you know. After all, you have actually died during a romp about the universe.”

Clara groaned and rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine! But I’m joining a painting class, and a yoga class, and any other club-class-course I can think of. I’m going to turn *into* a sofa one of these days if I can’t occupy myself.” She’d gone back to teaching at school, but the need for extra stimulation bristled beneath her skin. Taking a break from traveling through space and time had only intensified her craving for it, despite her delighted domestic bliss with the Doctor. 

“How about a cooking class?” The Doctor winked mischievously, scooping the blankets from the floor and folding them. 

“Shut up, you,” Clara did her best fake scowl and he laughed. “My cooking is fantastic and makes you want to worship at my feet.”

“I’ll do that without any special incentive, my dear,” he promised, prompting her to plant a kiss on his mouth.

“Speaking of food, I’m going to go rustle myself up something,” Clara announced. “*Myself,* Doctor. You don’t have to do everything for me.”

“Yes, but if you change your mind and want me to put you into the lap of luxury, just let me know,” he replied, taking out his sonic screwdriver and giving it a few flips as he prepared to return to the task of crib assembly in the upstairs bedroom.

Clara shook her head again, still amazed at how simply being with the Doctor filled her with such ceaseless joy and excitement. They’d been married almost a year, and she continued to feel giddy and a bit lightheaded in the best way whenever they were together. 

Pulling open the cupboard, she took out some crackers and peanut butter, then opened the refrigerator as she hummed contentedly. From behind her, Clara heard a small noise and turned slightly to see that one of the other cabinets had opened, seemingly by itself. She shut it and returned to find that the refrigerator door, which she’d left ajar, was now closed.

“That’s odd,” she murmured, pulling out a jug of milk and a jar of strawberry jam. She was popping a cracker into her mouth when she jumped in surprise to see that a plate was already sitting on the counter. That plate had not been there a moment before. 

“Doctor!” Clara called in a moment of ominous confusion, her mouth still slightly full of cracker.

He was standing before her almost immediately, all out of breath.

“Well, you don’t have to run,” Clara smiled, “We’ve got a few months before you need to come running when I call you.”

“I’ll come running to you any time I damn well please, if it’s all the same to you,” the Doctor grinned shamelessly.

“Oh, you,” Clara sighed, caressing his face. “Hey, do you know what you said to me the other day, about how we have a ghost in this flat?”

“And you told me I was being paranoid?” 

“Well, I stand corrected,” Clara remarked. “I just had some unexpected help with my snack, and quite frankly…”

“Yes, Clara?”

“I’m not bored anymore.”


	2. Chapter 1

“I told you the laundry machine filled itself yesterday,” the Doctor said smugly.

“Yeah, yeah, you told me so,” Clara said dismissively. “But what do you think it actually is? The other time we encountered ghosts, they weren’t invisible.”

“Right, but those ghosts were manufactured by the Fisher King specifically to send a message to the past.” The Doctor rubbed his chin, brow furrowed, contemplating the mystery. “This ghost has its own origin story, its own agenda.”

Clara pointed out. “Doctor, did you pour the milk into that glass?”

He glanced over and started slightly. “No, I didn’t,” the Doctor sighed. “I’m sure it’s alright to drink though,” he added, placing it on the table for her.

“Thanks,” Clara said, her eyes scanning the room. There was no sign of anyone or anything around but the Doctor and herself. When the ghost made its deft, quick movements, it did so silently, without even a “whoosh” of wind to indicate its presence.

“This is weird!” Clara remarked happily.

“Try not to get too excited,” the Doctor warned, “We don’t know if it’s a friendly ghost.”

“Well, all it ever does is help us,” Clara pointed out. “What reason do we have to suspect it’s evil?”

“There’s a thin line between helping and playing with one’s intended prey,” the Doctor explained, pointing his sonic screwdriver around. “The temperature’s gone down several degrees. Can’t be a coincidence.”

Clara padded over to the Doctor, her slightly oversized pajamas flapping about adorably. “I’ll keep you warm, Doctor,” she promised slyly, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Clara, this is no time to be thinking about all that,” he argued weakly, automatically stroking her back and drawing her even closer.

“But,” she replied merrily, “I just can’t help it! It’s our own little adventure, Doctor, delivered right to our home, like I wished it into existence! And when we start adventuring, I get excited in all sorts of ways I used to hide. But now I don’t have to hide my feelings anymore, and that’s exciting too! It still is. It always will be. Come on, admit it!” She nudged him lovingly and his attempt to maintain composure crumbled.

“Ah, fine, I admit it. It’s exciting, and rather…” His husky voice trailed off in the type of shyness only Clara could make him feel.

“Hmm?” Clara prompted.

“Arousing,” the Doctor murmured, “Or maybe you’re just so unceasingly arousing that it’s a wonder I ever get anything done.”

“Right back at you,” Clara winked, causing him to blush and increase her amused satisfaction. “But wait a minute, Doctor. What did I say just now, about the ghost showing up just at this particular time in our lives? Right when I was getting bored and stir crazy not going off in the TARDIS for a bit?”

“Now we’re back on the case,” the Doctor noted, “I can’t keep track with you sometimes.”

“Stop trying to separate everything out,” Clara reprimanded crisply. “I said…”

“That it was as if you’d willed this mystery into existence,” he recalled thoughtfully. “Clara, you’re brilliant.”

“True.”

“The very nature of the situation itself, its convenience — to you, I might add, not to me! — provides us with our first clue. The question is, what does it mean, and how do we find out?” The Doctor stepped back from Clara slightly and cupped his hands around his mouth. 

“Hey there! Any chance you’d like to come out of hiding and tell us who you are and what you want?” After a moment of nothingness in reply, the Doctor shrugged. “Always worth a try.

“Doctor,” Clara tugged at his sleeve, nodding over to the fridge. On the whiteboard where they jotted down grocery lists, a new message had been haphazardly scribbled.

“YoU,” the scrawl read cryptically.

They looked at each other in perplexed fascination.

“‘You’ who? You, Doctor?” Clara questioned, squinting in confusion.

“Or you, Clara? Or Us?” the Doctor wondered.

“And is that who it is or what it wants?” Clara wondered, perching her hands on her hips. “Or, is it both?”

The Doctor frowned. “Look,” he muttered. Another word had appeared beneath the first scribble: 

“wAiT.”

Clara crunched her cracker thoughtfully. The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? I’m hungry,” She explained, “And clearly the ghost is in no hurry to reveal their agenda.”

“So,” he replied with a smile, “What do you want to do, Clara? This is your mystery; I’m putting you in charge.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re both in charge,” Clara winked. “That’s how it always shakes out, Doctor.” He shrugged and took her hand, gently rubbing her knuckles. His gaze on her was entranced, intrigued as always to hear her next idea.

“I think we have to let this unfold for now,” she theorized. “Go about our lives as usual and see what happens.”

“You don’t want to…go and stay somewhere else or anything, I suppose,” the Doctor guessed.

“Of course not.”

“Of course not,” he repeated tartly. “Okay, then.”

A little while later, Clara drew herself a bath and sank gratefully into the hot water. She liked seeing her belly bump sticking out of the water slightly, and propped some bubbles on top of it to watch them slide off, giggling to herself. She was so absurdly happy, surely it had to be illegal in several countries. 

Stepping out of the tub, Clara realized she’d forgotten to hang her towel and opened the closet to grab one. Humming a tune to herself, Clara selected her favorite fluffy blue towel and went to close the closet door. But just as it slid into place, she caught something out of the corner of her eye, and it made her jump, surprised terror lancing her blissful mindset.

It was a hand, reaching for her, almost brushing against her shoulder. Dainty, pale fingers reached from inside the closet, pulling back just in time to avoid being caught and hurt in the door. So, it was if the ghost was physically tangible enough for that to be a real concern. And now, as Clara yanked the door back open, the hand was gone.

She took a few deep breaths and pressed a hand to her heart. Realizing she was freezing, Clara tugged the towel close around her. 

She wiped her feet off on the rug, stuck them into her slippers hurriedly and headed for the kitchen. “What do you want with us? Tell me right now, no more games!” Clara shouted to the ghost, turning her frantic eyes to the whiteboard. It had been all fun and games until this thing got grabby, and now Clara was just plain-old creeped out.

“wAiT,” the answer came back again on the whiteboard. Clara rolled her eyes in frustration.

“No more waiting,” she insisted. The Doctor came into the room and approached the whiteboard, a protective arm going around Clara. 

“I saw its hand in the bathroom. I don’t like being watched like that, being snuck up on,” she explained, staring straight ahead.

“I aM wAiTiNg,” the ghostly writing commenced. 

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the Doctor murmured thoughtfully. “Though definitely not necessarily anywhere good.”

“wAiTiNg fOr bAbY,” the message continued, the ink mixing with a condensation in the air which accompanied the ghostly presence. The combination caused the letters to drip slightly, the ink sliding down the whiteboard.

“Doctor, what does it mean, what does it want with our baby?” Clara wondered desperately, sorry she’d ever been pleased about this new mystery. Now it was all spiraling out of control, into territory Clara would never accept: the idea that her child was in danger.

The Doctor sensed her overpowering anxiety and pulled her into a tight hug, Clara breathing out into his chest, finding relief in the solidarity and protection of their love. “Gah!” He cried out all of a sudden, shaking his shoulder as Clara looked up, alarmed.

“What?” She asked, her heart pounding. 

The Doctor just shook his head and said, “I didn’t sign up for a group hug.”

“You felt the ghost touching you,” Clara pieced together, “What did it feel like? Did you see it?”

“It was a split second,” he replied, and now he was the one holding onto Clara for dear life, having been given a legitimate fright. “I didn’t just feel the icy cold grip of death, though, Clara. That goes with the territory. I could sense its emotions as well. Horrible loneliness, longing, reaching out for what it thinks belongs to it. And I’m afraid that would be us.”

“Why does the ghost think that you, and me, and the baby *belong* to it?” Clara asked.

“I don’t know. I do know that all that sadness and yearning is starting to morph into a darker emotion, starting to solidify into an agenda.”

“Well, maybe that’s why the ghost is starting to gain more of a physical presence,” Clara theorized. “As its determination grows, so does its ability to assert itself in this world.”

The Doctor nodded, “What if it’s feeding off of your moods for some reason as well? Getting the idea that you wanted it to manifest itself. And then once it did, it didn’t particularly want to leave. Instead, it wants to get closer and closer." He focused again on the emotions he'd sensed when the ghost touched him. "To be with us, own us, control us…maybe someday become…”

“What?” Clara asked, and it wasn’t a gentle “what;” it was the one she used when the Doctor’s next words were sure to be upsetting and she needed him to get on with it, rip off the bandaid, let her in on whatever the danger and the disaster actually *was.*

“What if it wants to someday become you, Clara?” The Doctor said urgently, clasping her shoulders, “Because what if, once upon a time, it *was* you?”

“You’re not making any sense, Doctor,” Clara sighed, “Please start making sense again. How could it have been me? Wait, do you mean…because I died? I left behind a ghost?”

He nodded sadly. “Exactly, Clara. I think we should pack a couple of bags and leave, right now, let’s go. I’ll explain the rest when you’re somewhere safe.” He paused, cupping Clara’s face in his hands and searching her eyes for confirmation that she was alright, able to cope with all of this. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Clara confirmed, slightly numb with disbelief and worry, “I’ll go and pack.”

She headed upstairs, dressed, and threw a bag together, hurrying back down to grab the Doctor’s hand. He took the bag from her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “We’ll get through this, Clara. We’ll be fine,” he assured her. Clara could see the fear still lingering in his eyes, but she couldn’t help feeling soothed by his words anyway. The Doctor just had that effect on her. She believed in them whole-heartedly, and whatever was to come...yes, they would get through it.

***********************************************************************************************

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” the Doctor said a little while later as they settled into a booth at the diner down the street from the bed and breakfast they had checked into. He pressed his fingers together and formed an arch with his hands, a nervous habit of his that let Clara know he was pondering how to best communicate the situation to her. She could tell that he was hesitating to tell her the details of something so disturbing.

“Did this all start when you came back to Trap Street and pulled me from my timestream before the raven attacked me?” Clara guessed, turning the menu over and then back again, her stomach growling. *Can I seriously be hungry again already?* It defied belief.

The waitress came over, pen poised to take their order. “Just pancakes for me, please, all the pancakes,” Clara requested, “Oh, and scrambled eggs, sausage and rye toast for this one, please. Two teas, one decaf.” She nodded at the Doctor, who grinned at her, lovestruck all over again.

“You’re ordering for me now?” His eyes twinkled.

“Is that not what you wanted?” Clara smirked, nudging his foot with hers under the table.

“I like you ordering for me,” he told her, taking her hand. “Yes, I think this ghost is a remnant of the version of you that died in the original sequence of events. It only makes sense, and I’m kicking myself that I didn’t see this coming.”

“It makes me think so differently about her, knowing that she’s…me,” Clara pondered. “I can only imagine how I would feel, isolated in some limbo. Why can’t she cross over to the afterlife?”

The Doctor rubbed his forehead. “That’s just it, Clara, why not? What if she needs closure, what if she’s still floating around hoping to go back to living her life? It’s a bit of a raw deal she got, dying in her prime while you got to take over, getting your life back, getting married, having a baby, continuing your adventures.”

“Everything I always wanted,” Clara breathed out, a deep sense of empathetic melancholy pervading her mind. “Doctor, what you and I have now, it’s absolutely a dream come true. It’s all I ever longed to have in my life. She must be devastated, on the outside looking in at us.”

“I can’t stand that there’s a version of you in pain because of something I did,” the Doctor confessed. “It’s unbearable. We have to find a way to help her, but we can’t let her hurt you in the process. You can’t go back there, you cannot cross paths with that ghost.”

Once the food arrived, Clara cut up her pancakes, taking a piece and placing it on the Doctor’s plate as he spooned some eggs onto hers. He dropped several sugars in his tea, and Clara smiled, never able to get over her amusement at the absurd amount of sweetener the Powerful Time Lord needed in every cup. After pouring a splash of cream into Clara’s cup and stirring it, the Doctor took a bite of toast. 

“Let’s sleep on it, see what we can come up with for a plan,” He suggested. Clara nodded, completely exhausted. 

“God, a bit of rest sounds good,” She admitted. 

*************************************************************************************  
Clara woke the next morning feeling incredibly refreshed. She nestled into the sheets, which smelled of roses, and pulled the comforter up a bit. Lying on her side, she moved closer to the Doctor and lightly butted his arm with her forehead, causing him to chuckle and raise his arm so that she could snuggle up to him and rest her head on his chest. “Mmm,” she said contentedly, “It’s nice here.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, stroking her back with a dreamy expression which belonged only to Clara.

“You’ve been up for ages, haven’t you?” She asked. “If I didn’t know you well enough to guess, the outfit is a dead giveaway.” She smiled over at his white buttoned shirt and dark grey vest and trousers. “A bit formal for just lying around, isn’t it?” Why did he have to dress like that? It never stopped looking ridiculously good. He was such a Doctor.

“Couldn’t sleep much, been having a think,” the Doctor admitted. “Here, I brought you some breakfast.” He lifted a glass of orange juice from the table beside the bed and Clara sat up straight enough to take a sip. 

“Time for breakfast again, already?” Clara mused. “I think even *I’m* still full from last night.” She replaced the juice on the table, in the process brushing her chest against the Doctor’s as his hands shifted on her back. His fingers wandered down to the edge of her t-shirt and lifted it slightly, massaging her bare skin.

Clara smiled and brushed her lips against his, a flutter-light touch under which his own mouth immediately opened. They deepened the kiss instinctively as the Doctor’s hands traveled over Clara’s curves beneath her shirt. She couldn’t help a moan as he cupped her breasts, running his fingers over her nipples as they automatically hardened, a symptom of her desire that caused him to shiver. “You’re so buttoned up,” Clara accused, remedying the matter with habitual ease. Soon his dapper attire was on the floor and Clara was busy kissing her way down his body as the Doctor groaned, his fingers threading through her hair.

They changed positions so that he hovered over her, careful not to put any of his weight on her stomach as he lowered his mouth to her chest, licking and teasing her until she ground her hips upward against his hardness, making her impatience very clear. The Doctor grinned and kissed her mouth again, the urgency between them growing more irresistible by the moment. He dipped his head beneath the sheets and explored her with his tongue, Clara gasping and grabbing her pillow tightly. Another minute of that was all she could take before she cried out with a jolt of pleasure that radiated through her body. “Doctor,” she murmured, pulling him up so that she could kiss his lips. Clara turned him onto his back, sat up and straddled him, sinking down so that she took all of him in, his hands gripping her hips as she moved, bringing them both over the edge with a sharp, sweet explosion that astonished her, following on so quickly from her last orgasm. 

Clara collapsed against the pillows, her skin buzzing, looking over at the Doctor with wide eyes. He gazed back softly, intently, stroking her cheek and snuggling in close to her again, until their foreheads touched. “Good morning, Clara,” he murmured, and she chortled, kissing his lips with a happy sigh. 

“Good morning, Doctor.”

“Glad we did that,” he announced in a voice far more serious than the words would have suggested alone, and she nodded.

“Me too. Always. But…wait a minute, Doctor. What’s different about this time? What did you conclude after your thinking session?”

“I’ve got to go back to our place, alone. Try and communicate with the ghost. Perhaps I can convince her to move on from here, find peace.” He averted his eyes, knowing what Clara’s reaction would be. It was now clear that he’d wanted to have this precious time with her, this temporary respite at the B&B, with the knowledge that he would be returning into a perilous scenario alone.

“You need more of a plan than that! She could kill you!” Clara took the Doctor’s hand and pressed it to her lips. “Don’t do that. Please.” Of course, she had no idea what else could be done. Deep down, she realized, it had occurred to her that this was the inevitable strategy.

“I have to,” he argued gently. “I’ll be careful.” Clara shot him a dubious look. “Okay, this time, I really *will* be careful. And I need you to stay here. We’re lucky in that the ghost fixed itself in one location, for whatever reason.”

“Because she wanted to go home,” Clara said with certainty. “And I’m assuming she couldn’t get past the TARDIS’ safeguards, so our Earth home was the best option she had.”

“Our Earth home; that’s so cute. *You’re* my Earth home,” the Doctor grinned.

“Don’t do that, don’t be adorable, don’t change the subject.” Clara pulled her shirt back on and sighed heavily. “Your phone stays on and you answer it,” she commanded. 

“I promise.”  
*********************************************************************************************

Once he arrived back home, the Doctor cautiously pushed the door open, sonic screwdriver in hand, his eyes immediately flitting around to get the lie of the land. But he didn’t have to look far. Matters had advanced considerably since he and Clara had left.

The ghost sat on the kitchen counter, one knee bent so that she rested her elbow on it, her chin propped in her hand and her gaze on the Doctor perfectly frank and nonchalant. Her baby blue sweater, lacy white blouse, and straight black trousers brought harrowing memories back to his mind, while at the same time, her ghastly-pale skin and blue-rimmed eyes brought home the terrifying reality of the situation. 

The ghost of the Clara who died on Trap Street batted her eyelashes slowly, drumming her fingers on the counter and fixing the Doctor with an expectant look.

“Hello, Doctor,” She said. Clara’s face with an unearthly pallor; Clara’s voice with a strange echo and slight slur. The Doctor’s hearts pounded with fear, grief, and suspense. “What have you decided to do about me?”


	3. Chapter 2

The Doctor gaped at the ghost, taken aback by how solid and real her form had become in their absence. His mouth went dry, hearts pounding in mingled fear and dread, and every word that sprang momentarily into his mind seemed to dissolve before his lips could form it.

“Oh, go on!” Ghost Clara laughed, waving a hand at him as if she was letting him off the hook. She dropped her legs and swung them back and forth cheerfully. “I’m only joking. Just wanted to see the freaked-out look on your face. Although.” She cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yeah, you _are_ going to have to do something about me. Any ideas?”

“About a million, but which one I decide to use depends upon who or what exactly you are,” the Doctor replied, still nearly frozen in the doorway.

“You know who I am, Doctor, don’t be daft. I’m a little piece of the Clara who gave into the raven and died a noble death on Trap Street. I’m sort of…an echo that you left behind when you took the shiny, new Clara of yours, the whole one, the *person,* from her timestream. I guess I’m just a remnant. You can’t just go around yanking people from their deaths anytime you like, Doctor! Consequences. I’m an angry echo-remnant-ghost with a super-fantastic sense of humor!” Seeming somewhat hyper as her speech ended, Ghost Clara then laughed at his astounded expression.

“Clara’s had echoes before, I’ve met them,” the Doctor said in an accusing tone. “You’re not one of them.”

“You’re right,” Ghost Clara admitted, “Got me on a technicality there. I’m much more insubstantial than those were. I’m sort of an echo of an echo. A delicate fragment that’s most certainly been corrupted from even the amount of accuracy it originally had to the real Clara. Ah, well! You’ve got to use the cards you’re dealt, ay?”

“And what do you want?” He asked, approaching slowly, cautiously. 

“I told you, didn’t I?” She nodded at the fridge. “I want you and Clara and our baby, of course. But to be part of this lovely new existence you’ve carved out for yourselves, I need to join with Clara. Take her over, possess her, pick your favorite ghosty jargon. Eliminate her and step right into her shoes. It won’t hurt the baby, so don’t worry about that! I mean, I don’t think it will. Don’t ask me how I even know what I am or what I’m capable of. I seem to run on pure instinct.”

“Let’s be clear,” the Doctor replied, stepping into her personal space and looking her in the eye without flinching. “I love you. There’s no part of Clara that I don’t love, even one so distorted, confused, and dangerous. But you are never going to *eliminate* my wife. If there’s a place for you to go where you can be at peace, I’m willing to help find it. But you need to let go of your current agenda if you wish to remain in existence yourself.”

“Knock-knock,” A female voice purred from the door. The Doctor rolled his eyes. 

“Took you long enough,” he complained as Missy slinked into the room. 

“You’re going to owe me a mighty favor after this, Doctor, I was quite busy when you rang,” Missy replied.

“I’ll do you the favor of not apprehending you and turning you over to any of the many governments in the universe currently seeking to lock you up for your crimes,” he replied tartly. “Now do your best to park your massive ego somewhere else and put your thinking cap on. I’ve got a gargantuan problem on my hands, and I don’t know anyone else who might have the knowledge to help me crack it.”

“Mixed metaphors and hypocrisy,” Missy said crisply. “‘Massive ego?’ Really, Doctor, you’re not exactly a paragon of humility yourself. But oh, dear!” Pressing her hand to her heart in dramatic faux-shock, Missy took in the sight of Ghost Clara. Very little truly shocked Missy. “This is quite a conundrum. Been to a subpar beauty parlor, have we, love? The new look is really not suiting you at all.”

The Doctor feared his eyes would actually get stuck if he rolled them at every one of Missy’s comments, so he hurried into an explanation of Ghost Clara which his old Timelord frenemy nodded through pensively.

“Huh, there’s a lot to consider in tackling this crisis,” Missy concluded. Ghost Clara threw her hands up in frustration.

“Guys, I’m right here: I can hear you!” She groused.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” yet another voice chimed in. Clara herself stepped forward, leveling a glare at Missy. “ _She’s_ allowed to come?”

“What, did you wait about thirty seconds after saying you wouldn’t follow me to show up here?” the Doctor asked, immediately taking Clara by the arm and leading her back away from the ghost. She let him guide her back to the door, and when she was standing just outside it, he gave her an accusing look.

“I’m sorry! I tried to stay away, but the idea of you coming back here alone was too much for me to handle. I didn’t know you were going to have her here,” Clara explained, nodding at Missy, who gave a small curtsey.

“Well, well, well,” Ghost Clara said in a silky voice, “The gang’s all present at last. Come on, my gorgeous, resplendent creature,” she invited Clara, “Let’s put an end to this foolish little dance we’ve been doing. Give us a kiss! That’s all it will take to put me at the steering wheel in that mind and body of yours.”

“It has to be a kiss?” The Doctor asked incredulously.

“No, any touch will do it, but that just seemed like a really hot way to go about it,” the Ghost smirked.

“How ridiculous!” Clara said, offended. 

“Come on, we were all thinking it,” Missy put in teasingly.

Clara shook her head in frustration. “That _thing_ is very far removed from me, obviously perverted by whatever supernatural, otherworldly, afterlife-limbo blender she’s been run through.”

“Yes, Clara,” the Doctor replied, “but if there’s a way to convey her somewhere safe, stop her from pursuing us or trying to harm you, we need to find it. It’s my fault she even exists. I had no idea what consequences would ensue when I came back and got you before the raven struck. And I didn’t care. It seems that now is the time to start caring.” 

“I’m sorry I followed you,” Clara said sheepishly, sticking her hands in the pocket of her coat and shining her big, sad eyes up at him.

“No, you’re not,” he replied knowingly.

“No, I’m not,” Clara admitted. “I had to see what was going on for myself. I always do. Call it a personal failing, an addiction, or just one of the things we have most in common.”

He smiled. “If it was me, I would have done the same thing, but you would want me to stay back now and let you handle it, yes?” Clara nodded. They kissed before she went back to the car, where she sat anxiously awaiting the next development, her phone clasped tightly in her hand.

“Oh, Baby,” Clara murmured, stroking her belly and sighing, “How are we going to get out of this mess?”

“Well,” Missy said thoughtfully when the Doctor returned to the kitchen. She clasped her hands behind her back and strolled to and fro. “I’ve heard tell of many different sorts of ghosts, zombies, and other post-mortal entities floating around the universe, never really sure what was true or not, but one rumor that seems fairly legitimate is the one about the Safe Haven on the planet Chlos. Those who speak of it refer to a place of great beauty and serenity, dedicated to peace, in fact — rather nauseating, all told, but some people like that sort of thing—”

“Get on with it,” the Doctor replied impatiently.

“Well, _they say_ it is a place reserved for supernatural entities created by strange and highly unusual circumstances, a community where they can build a home for themselves, find some sort of happiness among their own kind,” Missy elaborated. “There’s some sort of eccentric religious sect there who have dedicated their lives to rehabilitating the un and post-dead. Now, what is it like? How does it work? How do you gain admittance to become a citizen there? I don’t know. It’s just a thought, dearie.”

“Mary Poppins is right,” Ghost Clara quipped, looking over at Missy, who grinned widely.

“Oh, I like her,” Missy said excitedly, “She gets my whole aesthetic.”

“Peace and beauty mean nothing to me,” the ghost elaborated. “But not because I am a lover of chaos like her. Because there’s nothing worthwhile for me apart from being with the three people I so desperately need. You, Doctor, you’re sewn under my skin, seared into my very essence. Clara’s love for you was the last thing she was thinking of before her death. That’s what made me this way. The blender did the rest.”

“This is it, Doctor, this is why I gave her to you,” Missy explained, as if this was all endlessly delightful. She glanced out the window at Clara, who was nervously trying to see what was going on from her safe distance. “It’s never going to stop with the two of you, it’s never going to calm down. You bring potential catastrophe with you wherever you go because you’ll do anything for her. Tell the truth, I was in a terrible mood one day and I said to myself, I’d like to start hatching a plan that will let me play with the Doctor like a cat batting a toy about, _for years._ Without having to lift a finger beyond the first few dominoes set in motion. How could I do that? Present you with the ultimate challenge. The woman who would be, for you,” She locked eyes with the Doctor, “absolutely irresistible. Your soulmate.”

“You don’t give people to other people,” the Doctor said, his voice laden with resentment. “That’s not how it works.”

“Whatever. Anyway, watching the two of you, over time? Way, way better than a cat with a toy. You two are like catnip. Oh, do proceed!” Missy’s eyes fastened on the intense looks exchanged by the Doctor and Clara through the two windows separating them. Meanwhile, the ghost bristled.

“We’ve reached an impasse,” Ghost Clara complained, hopping down and crossing her arms confrontationally. “I can’t make you bring her back in here and let me touch her, and you can’t make me go to this kumbaya, bracelet-making, organic food-nibbling Boringsville Mary’s been on about.” 

Missy winked.

“That, my sweet deranged poppet, is where you’re quite mistaken,” she said, lifting her umbrella and nodding to the Doctor, who took out his sonic screwdriver accordingly. 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He muttered.

“Yes, my sweetness,” Missy answered, “And just think of all the times you said this umbrella was a pretentious item to render sonic. Now it’s going to come in fabulously handy and you’re about to get drenched.”

They activated their sonic devices, and with a flash of light and a whirring sound, Ghost Clara exploded into an enormous splash of what looked like water. Missy laughed as her umbrella protected her from the outpouring she expected to drench the Doctor, but he’d grabbed a large salad bowl from the counter and held it with his other hand, managing to collect the majority of the substance. Carefully, he carried it to the counter. Missy clucked her disapproval.

“You cannot be serious,” she chided. “Now, what are you going to do about the rest of her?” She gestured at her umbrella and the small puddle of water on the floor.

The Doctor pointed his screwdriver and the water rose in a straight, steady stream, neatly jet-propelling into the bowl. He eagerly opened a cabinet, pulling out a plastic lid and sealing the bowl.

Missy propped her hands on her hips as the Doctor phoned Clara. “The condensation and the temperature drop which accompanied her arrival and evolution revealed that the ghost was pulling all the moisture from the air and using it to make a physical form for herself,” the Doctor explained. “Humanoids are made almost entirely of water. The rest of what she created of her appearance was merely a facade, the best she could do to make herself into a real girl. A twisted Pinocchio. All she wanted to be was real, to be you, Clara. In a way, thinking about how she was created and the way she felt, I can’t even blame her, ruthless as she was.”

“What are you going to do with her now?” Clara asked, still nervous.

“Since I’m assuming you’re not going to pour her down the drain or evaporate her, perhaps you’d like to put a little gelatin in her and stick her in the fridge for a nice dessert?” Missy quipped. “I suggest TARDIS blue, which is actually raspberry, though you’d expect it to be blueberry. That always sort of disappointed me.”

“You know perfectly well that she would only reform herself if we tried to dispose of her by pouring her down the drain or evaporating her,” the Doctor said dismissively. “We need to get her to Chlos as soon as possible. The people there will know what to do about her. They’ve got to.”

“Happy travels, Doctor,” Missy replied, “Just you keep that lid on tight, ay?”

“Oh, no; you’re coming along, Missy. Do you think I’m going to take you at your word about this Safe Haven after every other lie you’ve come up with to mess with me and Clara, cause us trouble?”

Missy shrugged. “Why would I devise an idea so downright dull and obnoxious as a ‘Safe Haven?’” she asked, adding finger quotes. “Of course, not everyone can be as clever and delicious in their community-building schemes as me. The Nethersphere. Ah, how I miss it.”

“You’d better watch yourself there,” the Doctor said coldly, memories of the terrible incidents surrounding his and Clara’s journey to Cyberman hell swirling momentarily in his mind. He shook off the sensation as Clara’s voice chimed in from the phone. Their eyes met again as she spoke. 

“If she was trapped in the house before, why can you take her out of it now?” Clara inquired, perplexed.

“That was all in her head, lucky for us,” the Doctor explained. “She could have left anything she wanted if she just believed that she could. Something in her make-up seemed to anchor her there, probably that it was our home, part of the intimacy she wanted to claim for herself.”

“Hurry back, Doctor,” Clara urged. “We’ll be waiting.”


	4. Chapter 3

_Four months later_

Clara groaned, forcing her body up from the easy chair so that she could reach her fingertips just far enough to grab the t.v. remote from the side table.

“Sit down, for goodness sake,” the Doctor chided, handing it to her as soon as he came back into the room.

“It’s happened,” Clara sighed, “It’s finally happened. I’ve got far enough into this pregnancy that I’m willing to relax and let you wait on me.”

“I’m quite pleased about that, although it did take forty weeks,” he answered merrily, handing her a plate with two cookies and placing a mug of decaf tea on the table. He slid the table closer without spilling a drop of her drink and then sank into the chair, causing her to automatically lift up and slide onto his lap.

“Doctor, how can I not be crushing you? You’re so skinny and I’m a whale at this point,” she worried, not concerned enough to resist biting into a cookie.

“Oh, Clara, you could never be a whale,” the Doctor said, then gave a small, dramatic cough.

She batted his arm and laughed, “Shut up, you.” She patted her belly. “Come on out, Baby, we are _so_ ready and your deadline has arrived. I know it’s nice and dark and comforting in there, but out here is pretty freaking fantastic, too.”

“Oh, there’s a kick,” the Doctor smiled softly, letting his fingertips linger on the spot where he’d felt the pressure.

“Can’t be long now,” Clara mused, “He or she is so enormous at this point, I’m getting rather nervous about the whole childbirth thing. Can they give me something for the pain like, the second I get rolled into the hospital?”

“I’m not sure they’re giving epidurals out at the entrance, but don’t you worry, Clara. I’ll make sure you’re very well taken care of. I won’t leave your side for an instant.”

“Promise?” Clara pouted, exhausted, anxious, yet continually soothed by his presence and reassurances.

“I promise,” the Doctor replied smoothly, covering up his own frazzled nerves. He hadn’t been a father in so long, and the idea of meeting this child, a child born out of the most intense and consuming love he’d ever known, was beyond daunting.

He already worried about being a worthy spouse to Clara every day. Now, he was beginning to wonder if he was up to the job of being the best dad ever. The Doctor knew himself, and it wasn’t as though he would be able to live with himself if he failed to live up to the highest possible standard of parenting. He smothered an exhausted sigh of his own and reached for the box of cookies beside Clara’s plate, needing a little comfort food for himself as well.

The trip to Chlos with Missy had been his last jaunt into space for a while, as he’d been determined to avoid Clara’s feeling abandoned during the remainder of her pregnancy. If they were grounded, they would be grounded together. 

The memory of the ghostly Clara’s eyes would probably haunt him forever, even if she’d never be able to haunt them in person again. The ghost’s large, long-lashed eyes fixed on him with such disappointment and with a raw, craving, desperately reaching love that didn’t even understand itself, shooting daggers at him from her implacable stare.

The Doctor had learned from that adventure that he must never again doubt that his riskiest gambits would come with deep and far-reaching consequences. That he and Clara had already been together long enough to have created quite a few ghosts, left a small but significant trail of destruction to accompany the good they’d done. It was their job to make sure the rights far outnumbered the wrongs they might stumble into when they let their emotions push them too far. He knew, of course, that Clara was equally dedicated to this cause, and that they were together for a reason, united not only in their three, soon to be four hearts, not only because they needed each other, but because the universe needed them as well. They would get back out there, when it was time, and they would be the sum of all they’d learned from one another, perhaps most especially from losing and regaining one another. This precious second chance was the greatest adventure of all.

“Oh, my stars and garters,” Clara blurted, so shocked that she would have leaped up, but her baby weight ensured that it was just an adorably tiny mini-jump. 

“What?” The Doctor asked as they both stood up, examining Clara’s baby bump as if it held all the answers. Actually, when you had a husband who spoke baby, it kind of did. He laid his ear against her tummy and closed his eyes. Clara paused with baited breath to see what he could glean.

“Oh, the baby is coming very soon now, Clara. There’s a feeling of general apology for waiting so long, but he or she — I won’t tell, not till they’re born, just like I promised — he or she says that it is, indeed, quite nice and comfortable in there.” He straightened to his normal height and smiled happily at Clara, who was thrilled that they would finally be meeting their child. Then Clara gave a little yip as a distinct splash was heard.

“Whoops,” Clara said sheepishly, looking down at her damp socks. “That’ll be my water breaking.”

“Oh, yes, oh dear me, yes, indeed, I, uh—” The Doctor’s long fingers flew to his lips as he fumbled for words and action.

“Doctor,” Clara sighed, rolling her eyes, but not nearly as annoyed with his momentary lapse into nervous indecision as she was completely in love with how adorable he was being. Still, this was no time to freeze up. “Car. Go and start the car. Grab the overnight bag by the door and put it in. Come back and help me get _into_ the car.”

“Okay, on it,” he vowed, but she grabbed his shirt collar lightly and drew him back for a second.

“And also, I love you, you daft old man,” Clara reminded him, kissing his mouth softly. “Alright, let’s get a move on.”

By the time they made it to the hospital, Clara was running through the list of her favorite swear words with quite vocal enthusiasm. She even discovered a few new combinations of curses as pain radiated through her lower body with each contraction. Closer and closer they got until the Doctor stopped the car on a dime. 

“It would be best if I didn’t actually go through the windshield, Doctor,” Clara complained, a new contraction ripping through her.

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” He complained, throwing his hands up, “Did you want to drive?”

“Sorry,” They both laughed as her contractions subsided for a minute and he had a chance to leap from the car, run and round and open her door, and ease her out of the vehicle.

“I don’t suppose you actually do give epidurals out at the door?” the Doctor asked the first medical professional they saw, a sympathetic-looking nurse.

“No, more’s the pity,” the woman replied with kind amusement, “But if you’ll just go right over to that kiosk, they’ll get you all checked in and Baby will be here before you know it.”

“I don’t doubt _that_ for a minute,” Clara groaned. She leaned heavily on the Doctor as they made their way over to check in. It was almost a blur of pain and excitement to her as she was carefully assisted into a wheelchair and hurried to the childbirth wing of the facility.

Happily, there was just about enough time to administer some pain relieving drugs before Clara was ready to begin pushing. “They’d all better thank their respective Gods above or below that _that_ was the case,” Clara said bitterly, just before the drugs kicked in and she breathed a long sigh of relief.

The Doctor pulled on his chin, a total wreck of stress and anticipation, but determined to hold himself together and be strong for Clara. Instead of making smart remarks and ordering people about as he typically did in basically every situation ever, he followed each and every command that the doctors gave him as to how he could hold onto Clara and help encourage her to push at the right time.

A whoosh of time sped and dragged by, feeling simultaneously like mere seconds and endless hours, until a loud, quite infuriated and inconvenienced screaming cry pierced the air. Clara fell back against her pillows, completely spent, while the Doctor sat down in the chair beside her and took her hand, getting his own breath back a bit. 

“I can hear our baby!” Clara whispered ecstatically as the doctors and nurses hovered over the newborn, weighing the child and checking that he or she was in good health. “Get over here, Doctor, and give me a kiss!” He obliged, pressing his lips to her forehead and smoothing back her hair.

“Impossible Girl,” he whispered, “You’re the best miracle that ever happened to me, and you’ve given me so much happiness. I could never deserve either one of you, but I’ll try to do so every single day, I swear it.”

“Silly thing,” Clara chided, her voice worn but her tone insistent, “Don’t talk like that. We are exactly what you deserve.”

A tiny baby boy was laid in Clara’s arms as she carefully nestled him against her. He was beyond precious, each tiny part of him exquisite and beautiful. “Look at that,” Clara murmured tearfully, “He has your eyes, Doctor.”

“All babies are born with blue eyes,” a nurse put in, “They are lovely, but you never know how they’ll turn out over time.”

“I think I know,” Clara replied with a grin, “Because I know those eyes. Like I know nothing else in this whole universe.”

The baby had ceased his screaming as soon as he’d registered Clara’s presence, then the Doctor’s. He instinctively nudged his head towards the source of food he had sensed in his mother’s form and she laughed. “Help yourself, my darling. Here, now let me help you, too.”

As their son drank, his fingers tightly clasping one of the Doctor’s fingers, Clara looked up at her husband in sudden puzzlement. “Oh, Doctor, we never did pick out a name, now did we? What are we going to call him?”

“Yes, there is the matter of that,” he concurred thoughtfully. “Well, we may as well ask _him_ , ay?” He closed his eyes and laid his fingers gently against the baby’s still moist and cool back. The feeling of the child’s skin made him immediately raise the blanket to enclose his back and make him cozy before he announced to Clara, “Ah, we have our answer. He rather fancies the name Sydney, which he remembers quite distinctly from when we read him _A Tale of Two Cities_ before he was born. As a follow-up, he has a good many questions about that story as he was actually far too little to understand much of it at all. He would like to request that for the time being, we stick with shorter and more simplistic material.” Clara laughed with yet more tears, kissing Sydney’s head as the Doctor added, “For a middle name, he suggests ‘David,’ after your father.”

“I suppose it’ll be Oswald, as well,” Clara noted, “Given the fact that no one can pronounce your real name, and ‘Sydney David Doctor’ has a weird ring to it.”

“Sydney David Oswald,” the Doctor murmured, “I rather like that. Here’s to you, Sydney, and your beautiful, brave, astounding mother, the love of my very long life, just as you are and will always be. Clara and Sydney.” Clara just beamed over at him as he mused aloud, still processing their overwhelming joy and all of the joy they knew was to come. “Here’s to our family,” he added, an emotional quaver in his voice that made Clara’s heart squeeze, ready to burst. “And,” he concluded, his tone dropping, reflecting a very quiet and contemplative mood, “To the very best of times.”


End file.
